


The Coming Storm

by R2sMuse



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: DA: Asunder, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R2sMuse/pseuds/R2sMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 9:40 Dragon, Knight-Commander Cullen responds to an urgent summons from Val Royeaux and faces a difficult choice, setting in motion a series of events that will change the face of Thedas. DA: Asunder spoilers. Possibly spoilery DA: Inquisition speculation towards the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cullen

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: This was written in celebration of the BSN Cullen thread’s 1500th page, inspired by the “It was a dark and stormy night” prompt (and an idea from LolaLei!). Here’s to you, Cullenites! Better late than never._

Cullen hated waiting. He shifted slowly from one foot to the other just to give himself something to do, no longer concerned that someone might see him fidgeting. The oppressive silence in the meeting room was only broken by the crash of the storm raging outside the White Spire. The Lord Seeker had urged them to make great haste to Val Royeaux for this unprecedented congregation of the Knight-Commanders of Thedas, and now that all were here, they waited.

Cullen's uneasiness was mirrored in many of the faces around him, some familiar from his three years as Kirkwall's templar commander, others less so. Some he only knew by reputation, like the new Knight-Commander of Dairsmuid, where it was said that he had executed the Right of Annulment gleefully and mercilessly, ending an ages-long struggle to eradicate the heathen Rivaini traditions practiced by their Circle mages. Standing before the rain-lashed window, gazing dispassionately into the night, was fellow Fereldan Reynolds who, like Cullen, was also relatively new to his position. Cullen remembered Reynolds as a hardliner who had once called him unnatural for enjoying a mage's pretty smile. Sadly, Ferelden's Kinloch Hold was far from the only Circle of Magi where a relatively moderate templar leader had been replaced with an extremist who descried mage freedom.

The Lord Seeker's summons hadn't explained the purpose of their meeting, only its urgency. Of course, it was the uncommon templar who did not feel some trepidation about the Seekers of Truth, the Templar Order's mysterious overseers, so they had answered. It wasn't hard to guess that the meeting had something to do with the recent unrest with the mages, which had started in Kirkwall, but had ignited into a full-blown rebellion here at the White Spire. Now the system was in free fall, with every Circle of Magi rising up, and strange rumors flying of a cure for mage tranquility and discontent between the Lord Seeker and the Divine.

A lieutenant wearing the dark armor of a Seeker but the red cloak of a Knight-Captain entered the room. His eyes took in the group and he gave them a smug smile that had a cruel edge. "Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves will join you shortly," he announced.

"And what is this meeting all about?" Reynolds demanded, spinning around to glare at the man. "We haven't been told anything."

The Seeker smirked again. "In due time."

"Ill winds blow for us all," began the Nevarran Knight-Commander from Cumberland in a slow voice. "We work to keep our own houses in order as chaos erupts. I believe I speak for all of us when I say we want to execute our business here swiftly and return home."

The Seeker stood at parade rest near the door and did not respond.

The Nevarran looked around the room, perhaps noting that all eyes were on him as the most senior. "Plus, we are only fourteen. I do not see Knight-Commander Eron of the White Spire."

"Nor will you," announced a new voice.

A broad-shouldered man armored all in black swept into the room, sending Cullen's senses tingling as the Seeker's presence filled the room. This man was powerful and no doubt dangerous.

"Eron no longer leads the White Spire. I do. For those of you who do not know me, I am Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves. I have called you here because we stand at a turning point in history. And, I expect that you will all step up to the challenge." Lambert paused to let his words sink in, but there was no need. He clearly had everyone's attention.

The Lord Seeker paced slowly across the room. "Many of you have heard of the conflict that took place within these very walls. How the First Enchanters repaid our leniency by turning a sanctioned conclave into an opportunity to foment sedition. Now rebellion spreads like a dark plague on the land. Even our option of last resort, the Right of Annulment, has not stemmed the tide." He nodded solemnly at the templar from Dairsmuid, whose mouth thinned at the indirect slight.

Lambert turned to look out the window and a flash of lightning lit up his face and glinted from his cold gray eyes. He pressed his palms together and held them to his lips for a moment, like a supplicant in prayer. "What you may not know is that the Divine Justinia herself was a party to this betrayal."

Several indrawn breaths indicated the surprise that met this pronouncement. Cullen's jaw clenched and he worked to control his own reaction.

"How can this be?" asked the Orlesian woman from Montsimmard.

Lambert slowly turned. "The Divine has been undermining the Chantry's control of the mage threat since her first days in office. It was she who commissioned an investigation into the reversal of the Right of Tranquility over five years ago. It was she who sanctioned the mission that retrieved this knowledge and ultimately spread it to the mages. Moreover, it was she who actively aided the mage rebellion here at the White Spire, luring the templars away while the mages set their plans. My brothers and sisters, the Chantry has failed us."

Murmuring broke out as almost everyone started talking at once, asking questions and voicing outrage. Cullen remained silent and watched.

The Orlesian woman spoke out again and the suspicion in her voice was strong as it rose above the din. "Those are very serious accusations."

Lambert sighed. "Yes, they are. And, yes, they are true. The Divine even boasted to me of her role in these events, as my colleague Ser Arnaud can attest." He motioned to the smirking lieutenant still standing near the door. "Plus, there is the fact of her personal entreaty to me to come to the Grand Cathedral the night of the insurrection, leaving the White Spire virtually unguarded. All true."

The murmuring broke out again, but the exclamations were more muted this time, sounding more concerned and fearful.

Lambert raised his hands and waited for the room to quiet. "But, all is not lost. Yes, the Chantry has abdicated its sacred duty to protect Thedas from the threat of dark magic. Once upon a time, however, before the Nevarran Accord, this was _our_ sacred duty and so it can be again." He paused again for effect. "I intend to break the Accord so that we may step in where the Chantry has failed. Even now, the mages gather at Andoral's Reach preparing their next sortie. By unfettering ourselves from the Sunburst throne, and the incapable woman who now occupies it, we may do what has to be done to staunch the spread of this disease. It now falls to us and us alone."

The room fell silent again in astonishment at the bold proposition. Cullen's eyes flicked around the room, noting individual reactions. Reynolds' eyes had lit up at the idea and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. The Rivaini openly smiled. The Orlesian woman was frowning and tapping her lower lip. The Nevarran's expression remained neutral, giving no true indication of what he thought. The others all fell along the same spectrum of reactions, with some, like Cullen, attempting to mask their emotions and failing.

Cullen's mind flinched away from the thought of abandoning the Chantry and the Maker's chosen path. It had taken him years to come to peace within his own mind about the true purpose of the Order and the greater good he tried to serve in the name of Blessed Andraste.

It was quiet until the door creaked open to admit a column of helmeted Seekers. Ominous in their dark uniforms and silent as the grave, they moved around the perimeter of the room to loosely corral the templar leaders. Two stood before the now closed door.

The natural antagonism between templars and the Seekers of Truth was obviously being wielded against them and anger started to burn in the core of Cullen's stomach. The threat was clear and it was unconscionable that the Lord Seeker would attempt to intimidate them in this way. The Orlesian, and two others, were scowling in outrage. Even the Nevarran's cool façade had cracked and he glared at the Lord Seeker.

"Now, I expect you all to rise to this challenge and do what must be done," Lambert said in a business-like voice while he rubbed his hands together. "We all know what happens to templars who fail in their duty." He looked around the room, catching each individual eye. Cullen wondered if it was his imagination that Lambert held his eye a second longer than the others. "A vote," Lambert called out. "Daismuid! What say you?"

The Rivaini raised his fist across his chest in salute. "We support the breaking of the Accord."

"Kinloch Hold!" Lambert looked at Reynolds, who similarly saluted.

"We support the breaking of the Accord."

Lambert continued around the room, seeming to choose the more extreme supporters first, who all unanimously agreed, before coming back to the doubters. "Montsimmard."

The Orlesian did not answer right away, taking a few deep breaths before she said, "Montsimmard will follow."

"Cumberland."

The Nevarran shook his head slowly, his face stricken. "Maker forgive us," he muttered. Then, in a stronger voice, he added, "Cumberland will see it done."

Finally, coming to the last in the room, Lambert looked at Cullen. "Kirkwall." Something in the way he said the word, drawing out the syllables, clued Cullen in to the fact that the Lord Seeker's animosity toward him was not imagined. Cullen could only guess that it was due to his involvement in the events that had first sparked the mage rebellions.

Cullen wet his lower lip nervously, wondering if he could actually utter the words that would divorce his duty, and himself, from the Chantry. Even in the darkest pits of despair, languishing for weeks in the demon-spawned cage after the fall of Kinloch Hold, when the voices in his head urged him to abandon his faith to escape the pain, he had never faltered. Could he now? Even if the alternative was loss of that very duty that had sustained him? Or even death?

He clenched his fist until his fingernails started to bite into his palm, the pain giving him much needed clarity of the greater issues at stake. Before he lost his nerve, with the bile rising in his throat, he said, "Kirkwall will also see it done."

An unholy light sprung to Lambert's eyes at these words. "Very well. And, as Lord Seeker and Knight-Commander of the White Spire, I will also see it done." He looked around the room, rubbing his hands together again. "We have not a moment to waste. Our host will march on Andoral's Reach in three days' time. The mages will face such a reckoning that the bards will weep for telling of the tale. And, then we shall establish a new order and usher in an era of peace." Lambert nodded briskly and then turned on his heel and left.

ooXXoo

Walking through the storm, with the rain sheeting across his face and dripping through his hair, Cullen still felt unclean. For eight hundred years the templars had been one of the pillars of the Chantry and in a matter of moments, it was over. No one, not one of the fifteen, had spoken out against it. Even himself.

He brusquely dashed the rain from his eyes, trying to distract himself from his dark thoughts, and peered through the gloom. _Finally_.

Gleaming softly before him with a warm golden light were the stained glass windows depicting the trials of Andraste. Her entreaty to the Maker, begging forgiveness for the sins of man. Her Exalted March on the Imperium. Her betrayal and execution. Her ascendance to the Maker's side. Would Andraste forgive his own sins?

He scanned the deserted streets nervously before slipping through a little used side entrance. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light, the drip of rain water off his sodden leathers echoing loudly in the dark corridor. He started forward, wondering if he could find the way on his own, when a slim shadow detached itself from the darkness before him, making him start in panic and reach for his sword.

A smooth Orlesian voice said, "Now what have we here?" She stepped into the light, her short red hair and piercing blue eyes coming into focus. She studied him for a moment and frowned when she noted his hand resting on his pommel. "Hmm. Come with me," she said, her tone brooking no argument.

He had to hurry to keep up with her, following her down a warren of twisting corridors and up several flights of stairs. Eventually she led him down a brightly lit hallway and ushered him through one of its many doors.

He found himself in a cozy sitting room lined with bookshelves. A middle-aged woman with small, dwarven spectacles perched on her nose sat reading in a large, comfortable chair before the fire. She didn't look up as they entered, but the subtle shift in her body language indicated that she knew they were there.

"Justinia," said the red-haired woman, "see the mouse I found wandering your house."

Justinia looked up at last and smiled tiredly. Cullen rushed forward and knelt down on one knee, his head bowed. "Forgive me, Your Perfection."

She reached out and lightly touched his head, causing him to look up. "Now, now, what have you to be forgiven for?"

"It is done," he choked out.

She motioned at the letter in hand and in a dry voice said, "So I see." She read aloud, " _With the Circle no more, I hereby declare the Accord null and void. Neither the Seekers of Truth nor the Templar Order recognize Chantry authority, and instead we will perform the Maker's work as it was meant to be done, as we see fit_." She snorted softly. " _As we see fit_. Lambert has been unable to see the Maker's path for some time. "

She looked over her glasses at Cullen, who remained on bent knee, and her eyes narrowed. "There is no need for forgiveness, my son. You have done the Maker's work today. We needed someone we could trust inside this process. We are in your debt."

"This separation was inevitable," the red-haired woman added. "Cullen, you knew this. If you had not supported the breaking the Accord, you would merely have been replaced with someone who would."

"Leliana is correct," Justinia said. "If any one of the fifteen had balked, Lambert would not have hesitated to retaliate. In fact, I would guess some of your colleagues may still not be safe."

"That is possible, Your Perfection. There were a few of the Knight-Commanders who clearly were unsettled by this change. But none spoke out," Cullen said.

"Did he suspect you?" She motioned for him to rise from his knee, so he complied.

"I . . ." Cullen trailed off, recalling the suspicion in Lambert's cold gray eyes. He pursed his lips in thought. "I'm not certain. But he seemed mollified with the result."

"Good. I am well pleased. Now, with you under Lambert's new banner, we may more easily watch his next steps."

"He will march on Andoral's Reach." Cullen stared into the fire, unsure who would come out on top between the host of templars and the desperate mages, unsure who he pitied more.

"It's as I expected," Justinia said. She tilted her head slightly at she looked at him. "Yet, you are still troubled."

He clenched his jaw and tried to untangle his mixed emotions. "I am, Most Holy, but it needn't concern you."

"But of course it does. Please."

It was a gentle request, but a request nonetheless. He paused, uncertain how to explain, while she waited patiently. "I am a templar. It's who I am. It is all that I am. I have striven to understand the demands and responsibilities that places upon me, and at times, this has been a genuine struggle. But through it all, I have cleaved to the principles laid down by Blessed Andraste. That, while magic is meant to serve man, the users of magic are also the Maker's children. The Chantry is at the core of my beliefs. But now . . ."

"Ah," she said, "I think I see. But now I have asked you to compromise those beliefs."

"Oh, n-no, Most Holy, you haven't—" he said quickly, but she interrupted him.

"You are right. I have not." She chuckled again, a worldly sound at odds with the solemnity of her office. "Cullen, the existence or non-existence of the Nevarran Accord is irrelevant to your beliefs. In fact, I would venture to say that even the Chantry is somewhat irrelevant to your beliefs. It is not the institution that defines your faith, it is you. So whether your chain of command leads to the Lord Seeker or to the Divine or even to no one at all, that does not change who you are fundamentally."

"But . . ." He stopped, surprised that he was actually about to contradict the Divine.

"Go on."

He wet his lower lip. "But, I am a templar, Your Perfection," he repeated, hoping she would understand.

"I know that, Cullen. But, I've seen your heart, and at your core you will always be a templar. You are Andraste's champion. No piece of paper will change that," she said, indicating Lambert's letter with a frown. "We will need men like you for what is to come. Men of true faith. This is why I am encouraged today."

"I-I will do my best to serve, Most Holy," he stammered, feeling his cheeks warm at the unexpected praise.

"You know, Divine Beatrix—may she rest at the Maker's hand—used to warn that a storm was coming. Now that it is upon us . . ." She trailed off thoughtfully.

" _I shall weather the storm_ ," added Leliana, quoting from the Chant of Light. " _I shall endure_."

". . . _What you have created, no one can tear asunder_ ," Cullen finished.

Justinia smiled briefly and nodded, but then she grew serious, her face creased in world-weary lines. Her eyes grew unfocused as she stared into the fire, the flames dancing in reflection on her spectacles. "Sometimes . . . in order to fix something we love, we must first break it down and then build it anew. We will all do our best to weather the coming storm. And, when the clouds part and the blessed sun shines again, we will rebuild and be the stronger for it."

"So mote it be," Leliana murmured.

Justinia turned toward Cullen, her eyes clear and sharp again. "Go now. Leliana will contact you when the need arises. Take comfort that you still follow the Maker's word, Knight-Commander. Don't lose faith."

He clapped his fist across his chest. "Never."

She chuckled. "Good. For it may soon be in short supply. Maker watch over you, Cullen."

"Maker watch over us all, Most Holy."


	2. Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newly returned to Val Royeaux, Cassandra is disturbed by a midnight visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: I hadn't planned on continuing this story, but a friend asked for a Cassandra story (thanks, Danny!) and suddenly it seemed only natural to explore what Cassandra was doing that fateful night. There's a small chance of a third installment._

The hot red wax pooling at the top of one candle welled up and finally dribbled off the edge, tracing a crinkled path down the side of the taper until it reached the floor and began to cool. Cassandra's golden eyes flicked to the adjacent candle where a second later its pool of wax did the same, losing the race against the first candle and the bet she'd mentally placed on it. She sighed and looked up at the towering figure of Andraste looming over her in the dim shadows near the ceiling.

 _Forgive me, My Lady_ , she thought to herself. No matter how long she tried, kneeling now in quiet contemplation for almost an hour in the darkened chapel, her mind would not quiet.

Unable to sleep, she had sought out the solace of the chapel. She wasn't sure if it was the storm raging outside or the tempest blowing through the Circle of Magi all across Thedas. She had returned to the Seekers of Truth headquarters in Val Royeaux as soon as she had heard about the mage rebellions. But since her return, no one had been able to give her the whole story, only a series of disturbing rumors that had come out of the White Spire over the last several months. While it was known that the head of their order, Lord Seeker Lambert, had taken control of the mage circle there, the reasons were a source of speculation. Stories of a serial killer at the Spire had been supplanted by wilder, more sinister rumors, murmurings of a cure for mage tranquility, gossip about dissent with the Divine, and whispers of mage insurrection. So far she'd only been able to confirm the last, but any one of these issues was sufficient cause for a sleepless night.

Another boom of thunder reverberated through the thick walls of the Seeker Stronghold. She looked back at the racing wax on the candles, two among a steady sea of lights arrayed at Andraste's stone feet. The tiny flames all bobbed in unison and then suddenly flickered sharply to one side.

A moment later there was a faint swish of air and she rolled to the side just in time to avoid the two long blades that had swung at her unprotected back. She leapt to her feet and drew her own dagger in one smooth motion. She only spared a second to regret that she had chosen to come to the chapel unarmed but for the useless belt knife in her hand.

She warily circled the dark, hooded figure that had slipped out of the shadows. The dual blades feinted toward her dagger hand, once, twice, but she wouldn't be caught unawares again. Cassandra deliberately dropped her guard and as the blades struck out at her, she blocked them with a forearm and then swiftly kneed her assailant in the midsection, forcing a satisfying rush of air out of the figure's lungs. Cassandra followed with a sweep of her leg that knocked the attacker flat. She fell forward atop her foe, using the weight of her body to carry her down for a powerful thrust with her dagger toward the unprotected throat, and stopped just short of drawing blood.

"Nicely done, my dear," said a warm, Orlesian-accented voice. The figure's hood had fallen back to reveal a woman with slightly wet, short red hair and limpid blue eyes that smiled at Cassandra. Cassandra withdrew her dagger and gave the woman a hand up.

"Leliana," Cassandra replied, hardly surprised. She glanced up again at Andraste. "I suppose I should thank you. You succeeded in calming my mind where meditation sadly could not."

"I thought as much," Leliana said, eyes twinkling drolly. "You have never been one for silent contemplation, Cassandra. You are a woman of action. Give yourself more credit."

Cassandra frowned, rubbing the back of her neck, which was left bare by her short-cropped black hair. "There is no credit to be had. Whether in peace or in war, we must always be vigilant."

"Byron would be proud."

Cassandra's lips curved ever so slightly at the praise. Indeed, she did hope that her mentor Byron would be proud of the Seeker she'd become in the years since he'd died, and it irked her that Leliana knew her so well. But she also knew her friend's habits. As a master bard, Leliana played games within games, manipulating and prodding almost without conscious thought anymore. Mention of Cassandra's childhood mentor could only mean one thing: Leliana wanted something.

"What brings you to the Stronghold on such a dark and stormy night?"

"I heard that you had returned. Can I not drop in on an old friend just to say hello?"

"No."

Leliana's lips turned down into a small moue of disappointment. "You wound me, Cassandra."

Reluctantly, Cassandra smiled. "Leliana, you speak with a forked tongue now. Do I talk to my friend or to Divine Justinia?" In the years since Leliana's ascendance as the Divine's hand, one could never be sure.

Leliana gave a trill of laughter. "Perhaps it is even both." She became serious. "I come with news. And a request for the Right Hand of the Divine." Cassandra's eyes narrowed suspiciously. While Leliana's title as the Divine's hand meant she was Justinia's spymaster, body guard and confidant, Cassandra's title was merely honorary, as powerless as the former Divine who had bestowed it upon her eighteen years ago.

"Go on."

Leliana glanced around the chapel as she spoke, clasping her hands behind her back. "It is no wonder you could not sleep tonight. The world changes." She turned back at Cassandra. "The Lord Seeker has broken the Nevarran Accord."

"What?" Cassandra gasped. "Impossible! The Seeker's Council was not informed!"

"Nevertheless, it is done. The Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order no longer serve the Chantry."

"When? How?" As a high level counselor, she should have been involved and, at the very least, notified. The Lord Seeker technically would be within his rights to act unilaterally, but such a thing was unprecedented. Even with the Seekers' loose organizational structure there were traditions and protocols to be maintained, particularly with something of this magnitude.

"Tonight. It was ratified by all fifteen Knight-Commanders."

"All fifteen? There was no dissent?"

"I understand that it was unanimous," Leliana said evenly. "With the support of the Knight-Commanders, the vote is now binding and Lambert is already on the move. The templar host marches on Andoral's Reach where the mages have gathered. It is war."

Cassandra began to pace. And plan. "In the morning, I will convene the Council. We can still heal this rift. This is not the end, I promise you."

"Cassandra, I did not come to try to patch a broken system. The split with the Chantry was inevitable."

"Nonsense. Lambert is only one man."

"But is his militant view of the mage threat so uncommon? Among the templar commanders? Among the Seekers of Truth?" Cassandra pursed her lips, unable to deny it, as Leliana well knew. "The problems are deeper than one man's prejudices."

"What are you suggesting? That I do nothing?" Cassandra asked, her tone becoming harsh in her incredulity. "That I allow Lambert to destroy the institutions that have served us for centuries?"

Leliana's lips twitched and her eyes lit up as if at some private joke. "Perhaps. If that is what we need in order to build stronger ones."

"You can't be serious?" Cassandra demanded.

"The current system has failed us. Kirkwall. The White Spire. Only the latest symptoms, illustrating that the Circle of Magi no longer works as intended. The College of Magi provides only the illusion of mage self-governance. The absolute power of the templars is routinely abused. We may have an opportunity here for a fresh start. A better path."

Cassandra stilled, the import of Leliana's words filling her with dread. She searched her friend's face, but it revealed nothing the spy did not wish to be seen. "So is it true, then?" Cassandra said softly. "Did the Divine aid the mages in their rebellion at the White Spire? Is that why Lambert broke the Accord?"

Leliana pursed her lips and then admitted, "There was a fundamental difference of opinion."

Cassandra's mind spun, trying to map out the many ramifications of this move, unable to see their end. She paced a few steps. "So if you don't want me to try to restore the military arm of the Chantry, then what do you want from me?"

"The storm we have feared is upon us, casting all into darkness. Now more than ever, the Chantry needs the faithful. The lights in the shadow."

Cassandra grimaced at Leliana's co-optation of the Chant of Light, manipulating her with a quote from Benedictions that spoke to the heart of Cassandra's duty to the Maker.

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._  
 _Blessed are the righteous. The lights in the shadow._  
 _In their blood the Maker's will is written._

With the Accord broken and the Order at odds with the Divine, it was dangerous for Cassandra even to speak with Leliana. But the bard was asking for much more than that. She was asking Cassandra to betray the Order by continuing to serve the Chantry, courting treason or worse.

Leliana watched her intently, waiting for her response, so Cassandra carefully schooled her expression. She stepped away, her gaze returning to the flickering candlelight spilling on the chapel's dais and then up into the shadows that softened the stone features of Andraste's face. Outside of the rituals and legends that surrounded her, Andraste had once been a woman, fighting for what was right. Abused by the mages of Tevinter and then betrayed by those closest to her, she had died before seeing any of the deeds and misdeeds that would be committed in her name over the centuries. What would Andraste think of the Circle as it stood today? Perhaps this was their chance to create something better.

She turned back to Leliana and crossed her arm across her chest, holding her fist to her heart. "How may I serve Her Perfection?"

Leliana smiled only briefly, but her eyes glowed with pleasure. "We must stop the war at all costs. If we stay this course, allowing the templars and mages to come to blows, we risk pitting all of Thedas against the mages and a return of the dark times before the Circle. That will leave us little goodwill upon which to build a new path for the mages in Thedas."

Cassandra nodded. "So, what do you propose?"

"The Chantry has little influence now with the templars and the mages. But, there are those who do. If we can enlist their help, we may be able to avert the war before it goes too far." Leliana moved into the shadows near the door to the chapel. She retrieved a satchel Cassandra hadn't noticed until now and returned. Leliana withdrew from it a heavy leather-bound tome with the Seeker of Truth symbol embossed on its cover and faded with time. "You recognize it, no?"

"Of course." Divine Beatrix had first given her the book eighteen years ago, after rewarding her for her role in thwarting a blood mage's assassination plot. While the honorary titles Cassandra had received that day were only symbolic, the sharing of the book had been a rare gift. It was a compendium of priceless intelligence collected by the Seekers on the Circle, heads of state, political intrigues, in Val Royeaux and beyond. Beatrix had asked her to contribute her knowledge to it, ensuring there was a record of everything she had experienced during the blood mage plot. It had been in preparation for the "storm" that was coming, Beatrix had said. Cassandra had added her account to the tome and returned it to the Divine. That had been the last she had seen of it until now.

"We need information, and we need it quickly," Leliana said. "We are looking for someone." She set the book down on a nearby table with an ominous thud. "How much do you know about the Champion of Kirkwall . . .?"


	3. Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric picks the wrong night to return to Kirkwall.

The loud squelching of his boots in the muddy street was more than enough reminder that Varric was in Kirkwall again. There was nothing quite like Lowtown's combination of harbor silt and foundry soot that became shifting black sludge every time it stormed. The sheeting rain and sucking mud slowed his progress but at least it also kept most inhabitants indoors. Varric hadn't seen a soul other than the lone guardsman who sleepily had observed his ascent from the docks.

Varric trudged around a corner and caught sight of a dark shape looming in the distance, silhouetted against a sputtering lantern that was tucked into an alcove in the roughhewn wall. Shifting in and out of focus, the shadow danced a jerky minuet to the whistling gusts of wind. As Varric drew near, the fog parted to reveal the source of the monstrous shadow. A bound figure hanging upside down and swinging erratically at the end of a rope. Although grim, even gruesome, the effigy made Varric smile.

The Hanged Man. _Like coming home again_ , he thought to himself.

Stepping out of the rain and into the warm interior of the tavern, he was assailed by the rank smell of old ale, smoke, sweat and a harsh cleaning agent that could never quite eradicate the other odors. He took a deep breath and was immediately transported to happier times. The rows of dark wooden tables and benches were all uncharacteristically clean, tidily arranged and right side up. Also empty.

Behind the bar, a blond bartender with an open face was drying some mugs with a white cloth. When the draft from the door reached him he looked up and went pale. "Varric!"

Varric chuckled at the surprised response, which was not uncommon in the three years since his infamous escape from Kirkwall with its Champion. "How goes it, Corff."

"I-it's been a long time, friend." The bartender licked his lower lip. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Varric looked around at the empty room. "Seems a little early for last call."

The blond man shrugged a shoulder. "It's past curfew." When Varric gave him a puzzled look, Corff explained, "It's not safe after dark, they say, on account of all the mages on the loose. So Knight-Commander Cullen instituted a curfew. Times have changed since you left."

"So it would seem." Varric pulled off his wet leather gloves with some effort and then slapped them against his thigh to shake out the water. "Offer a poor traveler a drink?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course. Of course," Corff replied, making himself suddenly busy behind the bar. "I should have some of the good stuff here somewhere."

"Ah, you remembered." Varric had never been a fan of the drink at the Hanged Man, even what Corff called _the good stuff_. But at least it was better than the swill he offered normal customers. Varric eased onto a tall bar stool while Corff puttered around and eventually slid over a heavy goblet of wine. Varric took a polite sip and made an appreciative sigh. "Perfect. So, curfew, huh? I'd heard rumors of that sort of thing."

Corff nodded a bit too emphatically. "The mages have folks running scared."

Varric frowned. "And the templars are who they run to? Isn't that new viscount still running things here?" The Kirkwall nobility had eventually agreed upon a successor to Marlowe Dumar, almost four years after the viscount's unfortunate demise, but word was that the new viscount was an ineffectual milksop who merely had been the least objectionable candidate.

"We technically still have a viscount, if that's what you mean. But it's the Knight-Commander who folks really look to now. Since the Gallows mages escaped for good this time, he's the one that protects us."

"Cullen, huh?" _It's like Meredith all over again_. Varric scratched his chin. "Most everywhere else, templars are just slaughtering mages in the streets."

"That could very well be." Corff pulled at his lower lip. "Around here, we mostly see the templars on patrol . . . not on the warpath." He shrugged. "It's a crazy world out there. As you must know." Varric grunted in assent.

Corff cleared his throat and his eyes darted to the door. Almost nervously. "And, you, Varric. It's been a while since we saw you round here. Where've you been these past few years?"

"Oh, here and there," Varric said in a non-committal voice, taking another sip of the mediocre wine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he remained sitting, with hands relaxed.

Corff cleared his throat again. "A-and the Champion? We hear such tales about her. Her and you, and what went down with Meredith. Unbelievable tales. Y-you still travel with her?"

Varric chuckled. "Hardly. That's all in the past. I'm just a simple merchant now. There are no more tales to tell."

The tiny beads of sweat that popped up on the bartender's upper lip confirmed that something was off. "I hope for your sake that's true," Corff mumbled. "I-I'm sorry, old friend." He backed away from the bar toward his storeroom just as four heavily armored soldiers stepped from the shadowed corners of the room, their dark plate bearing a white sunburst and eye symbol.

The lead warrior stepped forward, bright eyes watching Varric from behind a dark cowl that completely obscured his face. "Varric Tethras, you are under arrest, by order of the Chantry."

Varric took a final sip and dabbed the corners of his mouth. "I thought the Chantry no longer had soldiers to command."

"You will come with us now," the man said sternly. The others stepped up behind him in a show of solidarity.

Varric pursed his lips. "Or perhaps you're not really with the Chantry. Care to show some identification?" When they said nothing, he added, "No? I thought not. Well, I think Bianca will have something to say about that." He whipped his crossbow from his back before the men could take another step, and Bianca indeed said her piece by firing a bolt into the thigh of the lead warrior.

"Get him!" hissed the leader, swearing and staggering from the leg injury. The others jumped to comply, drawing blades as they advanced. Varric caught another soldier in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground with the force of the almost point-blank shot. He backed away toward the inner warren of guest rooms at the back of the tavern, mentally mapping out the three potential escape routes he could think of off the top of his head while he reloaded. The soldiers followed, closing in on him, when a new voice rang out with authority.

"No."

The uniformed men immediately stopped. "He is not to be harmed," the voice continued. Varric squinted into the gloom, barely making out a fifth figure in the darkness near the door. The soldiers obeyed, sheathing their swords somewhat reluctantly, and continued forward, perhaps hoping to corner him.

Something made Varric glance over his shoulder to see three more uniformed men emerge from the back rooms to flank him. Their swords were still drawn, but they stood at ease, knowing as Varric did that the fight was over. For now. Varric held up his hands, letting Bianca dangle loosely from one hand.

The lead soldier limped forward, his mouth thinned in pain. He glanced at the corner where his superior had stood, but it was now empty. He turned back to Varric, his lip curling up in a snarl. He jerked his head and the soldiers behind Varric grabbed him roughly by the arms and ripped Bianca from his hand.

"Hey, hey, hey, he's not to be harmed, remember?" Varric reminded them.

"Bring him," the leader barked and someone shoved him from behind.

Although he had surrendered, Varric had no intention of making it easy for them. So he let the soldiers bear the brunt of his weight as they literally dragged him through the rain soaked streets and up the slick, endless steps leading to Hightown. The two men holding his arms were panting heavily when they finally topped the last step and started across the noble sector's market square.

Varric had assumed they were taking him to the Chantry when they headed up to Hightown instead of down to the docks and the fearsome Gallows fortress standing in the middle of the bay. So he was surprised when they stopped far short of the steep stair to the chantry complex, in front of the one place in Kirkwall he knew as well as the Hanged Man.

The flowering vine around the entrance to the mansion had grown wild and obscured the red, braided crest that marked it the ancestral home of the Amell family and Kirkwall's onetime Champion, Marian Hawke. In the years since Hawke's hasty departure, the estate had sat empty and untouched, the city having more pressing problems than an abandoned noble property. One of the soldiers yanked open the heavy riveted door without hesitation, suggesting that the estate was no longer vacant.

The men dragged Varric inside and down dusty corridors lit by sputtering sconces. One of them kicked open the door to a small sitting room. The interior of the room was dark but for a single spot of light from an indistinct source. Varric could see the dim outlines of bulky furniture covered in sheets. One of Hawke's uncomfortable high-backed wooden chairs had been uncovered and dragged to the middle of the room, under the light. The soldiers roughly thrust Varric down into the hard seat.

He squinted against the spotlight. Only dimly could he see that someone was waiting for him. He heard the faint creak of leather and a dry shuffling, like someone flipping pages. Varric shifted gingerly and blinked as his eyes started to adjust to the painful contrast of light and dark.

"I've had gentler invitations," he said reproachfully, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The figure stepped into the light. Another uniformed woman with severe short black hair and a pale, heart shaped face, holding an ancient, leather-bound book with a Chantry symbol on its cover. She looked down her nose at him. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast. Seeker of the Chantry," she announced in a Nevarran-accented voice. Her tone, clearly accustomed to authority, revealed her to be the person giving orders at the tavern.

_Seekers, huh? Well, shit._

The Seeker jerked her head at the men standing just behind Varric's chair. They left without a word, leaving him alone with the woman. "And just . . . what are you seeking?" he asked.

"The Champion."

To hide his sudden frisson of fear, he made a show of looking nonchalantly at his nails. "Which one?" he obfuscated.

She was having none of it, though, and angrily sprang forward, glaring at him. "You know exactly why I am here!" she shouted. She threw the massive tome down into his lap and, in one smooth move, drew her dagger and held it up to his throat. "Time to start talking, dwarf. They tell me you're good at it." Instead of waiting for him to say something, she flipped the dagger in her hand and stabbed it down into the pages of the open book. He held his indrawn breath for a moment before letting it out in relief that she had just avoided hitting anything vital. Nevertheless, he still had to fight the instinct to shift the book to a safer position in his lap.

In an effort to relieve the tension, he chuckled, but it came out more like a nervous titter. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Start at the beginning."

He looked down at the book, which was covered in carefully scrawled notes and descriptions of Hawke and each of her friends. He ran his fingertips over one page as he quickly skimmed, already catching a number of inaccuracies. _Not much truth to be had here_. Varric made a few quick mental calculations and decided that the Seeker was just chasing legends.

 _One legend. Coming right up_. He flexed his knuckles and started to describe one of his favorite tales about Hawke. How she almost single-handedly had fought her way through the darkspawn horde threatening her homeland. Just as he was adding in a high dragon to the rather vivid battle he had concocted, Cassandra advanced on him again.

"Bullshit!" she yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "That's not what really happened."

"Does that not match the story you've heard, Seeker?" he asked carefully. It had been a pretty good story, if he didn't say so himself, so this did not bode well. Perhaps she knew more than he'd anticipated.

"I'm not interested in stories. I came to hear the truth." She raised her chin, looking down her nose at him again as if hewing to some mythical higher principle, where the truth was some immutable ideal instead of simply one man's story, told from a certain point of view.

"And what makes you think I know the truth?" He shrugged, still hoping to look innocent.

"Don't lie to me!" She advanced on him, moving him to hold up his hands defensively as she invaded his personal space again. "You knew her even before she became the Champion!"

"Even if I did," he hedged, "I don't know where she is now."

The Seeker turned away and her voice became softer, sounding earnest and even a little tired. "Do you have any idea what's at stake here?"

He took a stab in the dark. "Let me guess: your precious Chantry's fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war? And you need the one person who could help you put it all back together."

"The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began. If you can't point me to her, tell me everything you know."

 _Interesting_. Was the Seeker asking him to set the record straight after all the myths and legends that surrounded Hawke? "You aren't worried I'll just make it up as I go?"

"Not at all."

The Seeker's confidence he would tell the truth, while misguided, meant he might be able to do some good for Hawke. Get the real story out. The offer was too good to refuse. He sat back and steepled his fingers. "You'll need to hear the whole story."

He started again with Hawke's escape from Ferelden, only this time telling it much the way Hawke had described the tale herself. With a few embellishments, of course, where the narrative lagged. But by and large he stuck to the real story of Hawke's meteoric rise to prominence in Kirkwall and her inevitable conflict with the tyrannical Powers That Be. Cassandra was a rapt audience, even if she often interrupted, sometimes to challenge him, sometimes for clarification. Sadly, she started to have a sixth sense for when he strayed too far into fiction. The Seeker was wily that way.

Cassandra had sat down in another uncovered chair he hadn't noticed and pulled the enormous book into her lap. The ancient vellum pages were mysteriously whole again after the melodramatic stabbing incident, which more than anything else spoke of the consequence of this woman that her book was so powerfully enchanted. She flipped to a blank page and periodically jotted down notes while she listened, although never when he expected. The discovery of the red lyrium idol and their betrayal in the Deep Roads earned only a few quickly scrawled sentences, while their first encounter with Knight-Captain Cullen or that silly detour to Chateau Haine warranted a heavily scribbled page or two. In fact she asked more questions about Cullen's role in the Battle of the Gallows than Meredith's.

Varric never got the whole picture of what Cassandra really thought had happened in Kirkwall, although it was clear that she had bought into several conspiracy theories floating around the Free Marches. Like the one where all the companions had come together from Ferelden with some kind of master plan to overthrow Meredith. Anyone who knew Hawke would know that she was incapable of having planned anything so far in advance.

"So that's it. That's the whole story." He'd finally come to his rousing finish, weaving in just the right mix of heroism and cryptic fatalism. Hawke saves the day. Mysteriously disappears into the night, leaving behind only legends of her passing—

"Then Meredith provoked the Circle," Cassandra said, her awed revelation interrupting his inner monologue. "She was to blame."

"Or that damned idol was. Or Anders. Take your pick."

Cassandra frowned thoughtfully and Varric knew he had her. After hours of storytelling and cross-examination, he had succeeded in impressing the Seeker. "Even so, had the Champion not been there. . ."

"It might never have even gone that far," he said drily before he could stop himself. Truth be told, Hawke had stirred up as much trouble as she had solved, but he instantly regretted his quip when the Seeker's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I see," was all she said.

"So how is hearing all this going to help?" he quickly redirected. "You've already lost all the Circles. In fact, haven't all the templars rebelled, as well? I thought you decided to abandon the Chantry to hunt the mages."

"Not all of us desire war, Varric." The exhaustion was back in her voice, lining her face. "Please, if you know where the Champion is, you must tell me. She is a hero. A woman that the mages would listen to. Someone who was there at the beginning. The Champion could stop all this madness before it's too late. She may be the only one who can."

He almost felt sorry for the Seeker and her futile quest. "Is that what this is all about?" He shook his head and looked down at his hands for a second. He no longer wondered at her sincerity. _Too bad, really_. "In that case, I wish I could help you," he said and truly meant it.

"Just tell me one thing then—is the Champion dead?"

"Oh, I doubt that."

"Then you are free to go, Varric. May the Maker watch over you during the dark times ahead of us." She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, not sparing him a second glance.

"Same to you, Seeker," he said softly to her receding figure. "Same to you."

About an hour after they had let him go, Varric was crouched behind the marble balustrade atop a nearby mansion, covertly watching the door of Hawke's estate. The skies had cleared and the moon was now visible where it dipped toward the western horizon, fleeing the faint blush to the east that heralded the dawn. From his vantage point he could see the small groups of soldiers that came and went, but now an expectant tension ran through their ranks as they lined up in formation. Finally, Cassandra emerged into the square, motioning with her hand for the soldiers to march.

Out of the shadows, a woman clad in the same Seeker armor approached Cassandra. The woman's bright red hair glinted in the torchlight and Varric started in recognition. The sweet face of a saint. The smooth stride of an assassin. Leliana, also called Sister Nightingale, left hand of the Divine. It had been three years since he had accompanied Hawke to another clandestine encounter with the red-headed bard who performed the Divine's more unsavory activities. The Divine's personal attention was never a good thing.

Leliana and Cassandra spoke in low, urgent voices, but Varric was too far away to hear the exchange. Cassandra handed the ancient book to the sister, who touched the cover reverently. The two then followed the marching soldiers out of the square and toward the stairs down to the lower city. He watched a moment longer before slipping back down to ground level.

ooXXoo

Soon Varric was making his way down the twisty byways of Darktown, thankful that the rains had stopped since the runoff often mixed with the sewer waters in the undercity. After a few furtive glances to be sure he wasn't observed, he stopped at an unassuming wooden door and made an intricate series of seven knocks. He waited and after a minute heard a single knock in response. He waited for more but when there was nothing, he repeated the series of seven. This time he heard two in response. He added the next series of three, but heard again only one in response.

He sighed in exasperation. "Andraste's flaming ass, it's me!" He heard a muffled curse on the other side of the door and then the clicking of a lock. The door opened slightly and he slipped through into the room beyond, shutting the door firmly behind him.

A woman with short dark hair and striking blue eyes lowered her dagger, relief clear on her face. "Sorry! I can never remember the sequence."

Varric shook his head ruefully. "Sometimes I wonder how you became a hero of legend, Hawke," he grumbled.

"Hey, now. You were gone so long we were starting to think you'd been compromised," a deeper voice admonished him. Three lanterns simultaneously burst into flame and the blond mage who had spoken shook his fingertips out as if extinguishing the arcane fire that had lit them.

"We were starting to worry about you," Hawke added. "A trip for news from the Hanged Man should not have taken this long. What happened?"

Varric ran his hands wearily over his face and rubbed his eyes. "You are never going to believe the night I've had. But first, pack up. It's time to get out of sodding Kirkwall again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This little series of drabbles has now grown into a proper story, so final chapter coming soon:_ Chapter 4: Inquisition.


	4. Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Cassandra's mission comes to an end, a new one begins. Spoilery DA:I speculation.

Cassandra dashed the sleep from her eyes before walking out into the square to face her troops. The sky over Kirkwall had visibly lightened, a pointed reminder that it had taken her the entire night to get a straight story out of the dwarf. Snatches of early morning mist chased around her feet. At least it had finally stopped raining.

Her troops were in formation before the Champion's house, ready to make their way back to the docks and away from this cesspool of a city. She wasn't looking forward to reporting back to Leliana about the failure of her mission. They would just have to find another way to stop the coming war. A soft footfall caught her attention, and she braced herself. _Here it comes_.

She squared her shoulders and turned toward the red-headed bard, who glided toward her with a rolling stride, dressed misleadingly in the guise of a Seeker. "So, did you . . .?" Leliana asked.

"Gone," Cassandra announced. "Just like the Warden." The stories and legends she'd chased about the two heroes had ultimately led to nothing. Varric's story was the closest she had come to the truth, which was to say, not very close.

With a sweep of her hand she gave her lieutenant the signal to move out. He nodded and limped forward to relay her command, favoring the leg Varric had injured. As one, the Seekers complied, beginning their long march down to the harbor.

Leliana stepped closer as the square emptied. "That is no coincidence," she said mysteriously, suggesting yet again that she knew more about the heroes' disappearances than she had shared. Cassandra swallowed her bitterness that her friend no longer played her cards openly, even with those close to her.

Or maybe they were no longer close. Those days seemed so long ago now.

She set her jaw in frustration. "So, do we proceed with the original plan? Or keep looking?" Running across the dwarf Varric had been an unexpected windfall. But it had also been Cassandra's last chance. With no new leads, they would return to Val Royeaux for new guidance from the Divine.

"It is in the Maker's hands now. We put our faith in Him."

Tensing at the unspoken admonishment in Leliana's words, Cassandra handed over the Divine's book. With her role in the investigation come to a disappointing close, Cassandra wearily followed after her troops toward the waiting ships that would take them back to Orlais.

ooXXoo

The sun was well up by the time their ship set sail, but the early-morning light barely penetrated the murky surface of the water. A stiff breeze ruffled the thin mist and whipped up the surface of Kirkwall's unnaturally round harbor into white peaks. The crash of waves grew louder as their ship neared the grim templar stronghold that stood sentinel at the harbor's center. Cassandra had instructed the captain to give the Gallows a wide berth, preferring to avoid any entanglements with the newly independent templars. Ahead of them, the ship carrying Cassandra's men already had reached the narrow channel in Kirkwall's namesake black cliffs that let out onto the Waking Sea.

"You should stop brooding."

Cassandra looked up at Leliana's approach and straightened from her slouch against the deck railing. "I am not brooding," she said unconvincingly.

Leliana joined her at the rail and feigned interest in the flit of seagulls above the waves. "I know you, Cassandra. It eats at you to think you failed. But it simply was not the Maker's will that we find these heroes today. He must have other plans for us. As I'm sure does Justinia. Do not worry so."

Cassandra shook her head. "I still cannot accept that we were so misinformed about Hawke." The dwarf's tale had been a surprise. She had expected subterfuge in order to protect the Champion. Instead he had seemed to appreciate the chance to tell the woman's story. Perhaps any natural storyteller would do the same. "I did not expect to uncover a . . . a hero of circumstance."

"Ah, but aren't all real heroes merely victims of circumstance? Few who seek out glory are truly heroic."

"True," Cassandra replied grudgingly. "It just surprises me that so little is known of what really happened here in Kirkwall. We knew of the discovery of red lyrium, but that it played such a role in Meredith's demise. The Chantry, even the Templar Order, does not know how one of its own . . . commanders . . . died . . ." She trailed off at the realization, her eyes flying to the bleak fortress looming in the mist off the starboard bow.

"Take us to the Gallows," she suddenly snapped at the helmsman who jumped to comply.

"What are you doing?" Leliana asked.

"Continuing my investigation," Cassandra said in a hard voice.

Leliana frowned briefly. "You know . . . with tensions as they are between Justinia and the templars, we may no longer be welcome there." She didn't have to add the fact that the majority of their soldiers were on a separate ship that was already lost from view.

"No templar would dare interfere with a Seeker investigation," Cassandra asserted.

"You put great faith in a broken chain of command."

"Some training is so deeply ingrained nothing can break it. Such is the fear of the Seekers of Truth."

As soon as they docked, Cassandra wielded this fear like a weapon, bullying her way past the overwhelmed templar guard until soon she and Leliana were being personally escorted by a trio of decidedly unnerved templars to the Knight-Commander's office.

One templar knocked on a heavy oaken door, eyeing the women sidelong as if to keep them in sight. "Commander?"

"Come," called a stern voice from the other side of the door. The templars opened the door to reveal a small, orderly office dominated by a long desk covered in piles of documents. A head of unruly blond curls was all Cassandra could see of the man behind the desk, who had not bothered to look up from the document he read.

The lead templar stopped in front of the desk and cleared his throat nervously. "Knight-Commander Cullen, the Seekers of Truth, ser. They, erm, demanded to speak with you."

Finally, the commander looked at them with keen but unconcerned amber eyes. If he was surprised, he did a good job of hiding it. He sat up straighter in his chair but remained impassive. "Thank you. You're dismissed." He waved a hand at the templar escort, who saluted and gratefully escaped.

Once the door had shut, Cassandra took a brisk step forward. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of—"

"I know who you are," he said, rudely interrupting her, "although clearly my men do not. I've heard rumors about you operating inside my city, without my leave. As I'm sure you must know, those who answer to the Chantry are no longer our friends." His gaze lingered on Leliana, presumably recognizing her as well.

"I did not come here to talk about your _allegiances_ , Knight-Commander," Cassandra said, instilling her voice with as much cold disdain as she could muster. "I am here for the truth."

The skin around Cullen's eyes suddenly tightened perceptibly and a muscle jumped in his jaw. His first honest reaction since they'd entered the room. His eyes bored into hers.

_Good._ She had his full attention now.

"Truth about what exactly?" he asked in far too neutral of a tone.

"The truth about Meredith. The truth about how she really died, and how no one seems to know this truth, even when Kirkwall's new Knight-Commander witnessed it firsthand."

His eyebrows quirked up slightly and his shoulders seemed to relax, although his expression was still guarded. Ready to tell more lies, no doubt. "What do you mean _no one knows_? I'm sure you've read the accounts. She died in the line of duty during the mage uprising."

Cassandra gritted her teeth. "That's not all there is to her death, though. Isn't that right? We've already spoken to the dwarf, so there is no need to lie any further."

He leaned his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers together, resting his chin on them. "And which dwarf would that be then?"

_Which dwarf?_ Was he making a joke? She hadn't heard that Knight-Commander Cullen actually had any humor to speak of. She stared at him in disbelief.

"The dwarf who was the Champion of Kirkwall's best friend?" he offered. "That dwarf's merchant brother? One of the coterie dwarves who regularly crossed Marian Hawke and her family?"

She ground her teeth together. "Varric Tethras! He told us everything. The question is, why didn't you? You were undoubtedly questioned after the incident. I read the inquest report from the insubordination charges you faced."

"I was cleared of all charges," he said evenly.

"Apparently based on faulty information! Why was there no mention of the red lyrium?" She hadn't realized she was yelling so loudly until the room fell suddenly, exceptionally quiet.

Cullen studied her face for a moment and darted a look at Leliana, who hadn't said anything yet. "There was no need," he said finally.

"No need to tell the truth? You'll forgive me if I find that a poor excuse!" Cassandra scoffed.

He sighed and looked down at his hands. "No need to further sully Meredith's name by spreading word of her madness. It seemed a minor posthumous kindness to let history think she merely died in battle against the mages, instead of raving from the prison of her poisoned mind."

He looked up at her again and shrugged one shoulder. "Besides, who would believe it anyway? Flying abominations? Walking statues? The fact of the matter is that Meredith's ongoing abuse of the mages, coupled with her hardline response to the destruction of the Chantry, is what triggered the conflict at the Gallows that day. No one disputes that. The particulars are unimportant."

"But they are important! It was Meredith's use of red lyrium that ultimately pushed her to challenge the Champion. Pushed you to remove her from command. And, yet, the world thinks it was the Champion who engineered it all!"

Cullen shifted in his chair. "When Hawke disappeared, it was easier—and safer—to let people jump to their own conclusions."

Cassandra snorted, unexpectedly outraged on the Champion's behalf. "Easier for whom? She was your friend!"

His eyes flashed as his careful veneer of calm started to slip. "She accepted the burden. We all did," he snapped.

"Likely story. What else aren't you telling me?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

He didn't offer any other information and instead coolly returned her hard stare. The silence lengthened until suddenly he shot a glance over at Leliana again, almost guiltily.

Leaning against the wall with her arms crossing her chest, Leliana had watched the interview with a detached calm, evincing no surprise or concern about Cullen's role in covering up the red lyrium use.

Slowly Cassandra turned to face her friend, wounded realization dawning. She repeated, so softly it was just a whisper, "What else aren't you telling me?"

Leliana gave her a wan smile, not even having the grace to look embarrassed. "Clever Cassandra. You are right, you know. Not letting the world know the dangers of red lyrium was a grave mistake. One that I fear will cost us all dearly." Eyes locked with Leliana, Cassandra still could see Cullen wince out of the corner of her eye. "But we must now look forward, instead of back," Leliana finished.

Cassandra ran a frustrated hand over her face and then jabbed a finger at the bard. "So you knew? You knew what happened to Meredith? You let me waste my time, running through half of Thedas to discover things that you already knew?"

"We did _not_ know where to find Hawke," Leliana asserted. "That was our priority."

"But you knew about the red lyrium and what it can do."

"We did." Leliana paused. "We do."

"From him?" Cassandra demanded, jerking her thumb at Cullen. "What's his role in all of this? Why not just send him after Hawke?"

Leliana clasped her hands together and smiled beatifically. "Cullen has his own path to follow."

Cassandra snorted. "And is that also a path of Justinia's making?"

Cullen shot to his feet. "How dare you accuse me of treason to the Order! I'll have you know that I am—"

"It's all right, Cullen." Leliana raised a pacifying hand, glancing at the shut door. "Cassandra meant nothing by it." The bard then leveled a hard look at Cassandra, adding softly, "We all have our roles to play in the coming storm."

"So it would seem," Cassandra said, turning to regard Cullen in a new light. Apparently she had guessed correctly: Cullen was enmeshed in Leliana's web as well. And therefore, Justinia's. He glared at her, his jaw set in stubborn lines. What a pair they made, both betraying duty for faith.

_Madness_.

"So, what is this threat you perceive from red lyrium?" Cassandra asked wearily.

Leliana moved closer and lowered her voice. "The Templar Order has sent expeditions into the Deep Roads to find and refine their own source of lyrium after the split from the Chantry. Unfortunately, it seems that they also found a raw vein of red lyrium," she said, glancing at Cullen.

"It's true," he said grimly. "Some templars have begun using it for their lyrium needs, which has already had some unexpected consequences, including strife within the Order. The templars have splintered into squabbling factions, and it is thought that the so-called Red Templars will soon strike out on their own."

"What sorts of _unexpected consequences_?" Cassandra asked.

"It seems the reaction to red lyrium is as varied as the persons exposed. At first, it appeared merely to enhance templar abilities, but there have been more troubling manifestations. Aggression. Erratic behavior. The Lord Seeker wants to put a stop to it, but the Red Templar faction refuses."

"Once the box is opened, it can be difficult to close again," Leliana murmured.

"What will Justinia do?" Cassandra demanded, glancing between the bard and the templar.

"She has plans," Leliana responded evasively, "but we need to report back to Val Royeaux as soon as we can." She turned to Cullen. "An unexpected pleasure, Knight-Commander. We will let you get back to the _many_ demands of your position. Let us know if—"

She paused at the sound of running feet pounding down the hall. Someone slid to a halt and started banging loudly on Cullen's door. A voice gasped, "C-commander! Please! There's . . . dire news!"

He yanked the door open to see a young woman wearing the robes of a junior mage panting heavily, her face ashen behind the spray of freckles across her nose. "S-ser, there's terrible news," she repeated, holding a hand to her side where she must have developed a cramp from the unexpected sprint from the mage tower.

He waved her in quickly and shut the door behind her. "What has happened?"

"It's . . . the sending stone, ser. From Val Royeaux. There's been some kind of . . . attack. An explosion from the sky. The city's burning, ser, overrun by demons."

"And the Grand Cathedral?" Leliana asked in an urgent voice, drawing near the girl to get her attention.

The mage's eyes widened even further. "It's . . . it's gone. The whole thing. Destroyed, just like the Kirkwall Chantry. The Divine is dead!" she wailed.

"Sweet blood of Andraste!" Cullen swore.

"The Divine . . . ?" Cassandra began, unsure that she'd heard the girl correctly. But the effect on Leliana was immediate. All the blood had drained from her face and she started backing away slowly, holding her hands to her mouth, which was open in silent horror. Cassandra followed her across the room, uncertain what to do, while Cullen continued to question the mage.

Cassandra had never seen her friend so shaken. Leliana's face was dangerously pale behind her trembling hands, and her unseeing blue eyes had darkened in shock. Cassandra knew Leliana had a shared past with the woman who had become Divine Justinia V, but only now did she see the depth and personal cost of that connection, whatever it had been. It was cold comfort that it took something like this to finally strip away all layers of artifice and deception from Leliana's years playing the Game.

"Leliana," she said softly, but the bard did not respond. "Leliana!" she said more sharply, and finally Leliana's too dark eyes focused on her. But now that she had her attention, all Cassandra could think to say was, "I'm sorry."

From behind her, Cullen's voice suddenly become louder, more strident. "And you're certain that's what the message said?" He had taken the girl's shoulders in his hands, his face close to hers. "A rift in the Veil? _The Veil, itself?"_

"Y-yes! That's what it said," the girl said, almost in tears. "Maker save us! Are we being punished?"

Cassandra stepped in, firmly disentangling the girl from Cullen's grip. "Of course not, child. Now, what is this about the Veil?"

Cullen shoved a wrinkled note at her, which she carefully straightened to reveal the transcription of the message received by the sending stone. She quickly scanned it and then read it over again more closely. It was a terse call for assistance from the templars at the White Spire. It claimed that the sky over the Grand Cathedral had exploded, flattening the entire Chantry complex and releasing a horde of demons into the streets. Given the early hour, the Divine was presumed dead, along with many of the senior clergy. Cassandra read it again a third time, the last lines filling her with dread.

_We know not the source of the attack, only that it appears the Veil is breached. Demons pour from the resulting rift. We mount a defense, but call for assistance in this dark hour. Maker watch over us._

She looked up at Cullen who had closed his eyes, his lips moving faintly. Cassandra thought she caught one word. _Andraste_. She turned instead to the mage. "Was there any more to the message?" she demanded.

"No, this was all," the girl replied unsteadily. "The Senior Enchanter sent me as soon as it arrived."

"If this is all true, then we will need more information," Cassandra said with a calm she wasn't feeling. "Please return to the sending stone. Let us know of any further communications. For the commander's ears only."

"Yesser," she mumbled, wiping an eye and taking a deep breath before leaving the room.

"Demons from the bloody Fade itself!" Cullen said, his face grim. "There's no telling how many they face. I fear they won't last long."

Cassandra tapped a finger against her bottom lip. "Most of the Empress's army is engaged in the civil war to the south."

"And the bulk of the templar host is still to the north after routing the mages at Andoral's Reach." Cullen ran a hand through his hair. "I can send some troops but it won't be enough."

"No, it won't," came a voice from behind them.

They turned at Leliana's first words since hearing the news about Justinia. She was still pale but her eyes were no longer hollow with despair. "The time has come for something more . . . drastic."

"What do you mean?" Cassandra asked.

"What I say is for your ears alone," Leliana said ominously.

Cassandra nodded once in understanding and walked over to the door. She splayed her hand against it, murmuring a prayer and pulling from the reservoir of energy deep within her to encase the room in silence. A ripple appeared in the air around her hand, spreading out spherically to enclose the door and most of the room. When it was done, all background noise disappeared and even her breathing sounded muted. "We have three, maybe four, minutes. Speak in earnest."

"Justinia was convinced that some dark force is at work in Thedas," Leliana said. "The civil unrest in Orlais with both the Duke _and_ the elves, the fall of the Circles, the split of the templars and Seekers from the Chantry, the infighting within the Templar Order. None of it is random. This latest incident merely supports her theory. Something is working to tear Thedas apart and has ensured that no one is in a position to oppose them."

"Someone? Or something?" Cassandra asked, arching an eyebrow.

"We . . ." Leliana broke off and took a deep breath before continuing. " _I_ do not know. What I do know is that Justinia was intending to act pre-emptively. She was going to bring back the Inquisition."

"But the Inquisition still exists!" Cullen objected. "The Seekers and the Templar Order are its scions, born from the remnants of the Inquisition a millennia ago."

"Cullen, in its day, the Inquisition was far more than just the martial arm of the Chantry. It was justice. The only justice some mages and common folk ever saw in those dark times. Justinia wanted to bring that back. To investigate these coincidences. To seek out the patterns we cannot yet see. To work at the margins where alliances crumble."

"So this is how we are supposed to _put our faith in the Maker?_ Entrust our futures to some ancient Chantry tribunal?" Cassandra asked, unable to hide the skepticism in her voice.

Leliana flinched. "This will not be a creature of the Chantry. It can't be. With Justinia . . . gone," she paused, clearing her throat noisily as her voice thickened with emotion, "the Chantry clerics will move quickly to try to mend the split with the templars. Like vipers, they've been waiting for their chance to neutralize her and reclaim what they see as their rightful place in the war on the mages. No, it is imperative that this new Inquisition be completely independent. As it always was."

Cullen's face was lined in disapproval. "What you propose," he said, speaking very slowly and clearly, "would set this Inquisition in potential opposition to the Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth."

"Yes and no," Leliana replied. "We may yet find common cause. However, we would have no ties to these groups. Nor to the Chantry."

" _We?_ So, you mean for us to be directly involved?" he asked.

Leliana lifted her chin and looked him directly in the eye. "I do." She turned to also include Cassandra. "Here, in this room, today, I propose that we three rescind our prior allegiances and found the Inquisition. The storm is upon us, my friends. We must act now, before the situation worsens. I believe that we are the only ones who can. There are men and women who were loyal to Justinia, to her, not the Chantry. I'm sure there are those loyal to you as well. And others will join. We had hoped to have the Champion and the Warden involved, but we will make do."

Cassandra felt a flutter at the edge of her senses. "The silence ward is about to end," she warned.

"Then, I must have your answer." Leliana looked at each of them. "Will you commit to this cause?"

Cullen was still frowning, but he nodded slowly. "I've come this far. It's time to scrape off the lies and openly pledge my conscience. I will."

Leliana turned to Cassandra. "And you, old friend?" she asked evenly, her expressive face still and dispassionate.

"At best, this is a precarious alliance," Cassandra said after a moment.

"Then we will strengthen it," Leliana replied.

With an audible snap, the ward ended, like a soap bubble bursting. A rising tide of voices could now be heard in the hall, tense with fear and concern as news of the disaster spread. As was no doubt the intent of whoever had perpetrated this attack. If something really was driving Thedas toward war and panic, someone needed to learn the truth of it.

Cassandra almost smiled. _Who better to do so than a Seeker of Truth?_ It was what she was trained to do, after all. Not just to combat the darkness, but to seek out its root. To be the light in the shadow.

"Very well."

Leliana let out the breath she'd been holding and smiled in obvious relief. She held out her hand, palm down, to the others who placed theirs over hers. "And so it is done." She closed her eyes and intoned a soft prayer.

" _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
 _I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._  
 _I shall endure._ "

"What we have created, let no one tear asunder," added Cassandra.

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This final chapter was just a stab at connecting the dots between some of the teases we've seen of the DA:I plot, which will no doubt be far off the mark once we learn more. But, that's what fanfic is for! :) Thanks for reading!


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